


Boxing Jesse

by SegaBarrett



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Amputation, M/M, Post-Felina, Quadruple Amputee, kink meme fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 09:52:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1774837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/pseuds/SegaBarrett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for the Breaking Bad Kink Meme: "Jesse has somehow had all four limbs amputated (when and how is optional). Walt (who is somehow responsible) moves in to care for him, carrying him around, feeding him etc. And the relationship develops into something more sexual, but obviously unequal and twisted. Bonus if Walt enjoys watching Jesse struggle to move or do things for himself while being annoyingly encouraging and cheerful."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boxing Jesse

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Breaking Bad, and I make no money from this.
> 
> A/N: Yeah, I wrote this... I'm sorry :)
> 
> Name is a take-off on the film "Boxing Helena".

Jesse was free. He was driving away from the compound. His life lay in shambles, that was for sure, but that had been the situation he’d been living with for a long time now. He would start back at Square One, he would figure something out. He’d make sure that Brock was safe and he’d… he’d find a new life. Maybe in Alaska or Oregon or… or something.

He hadn’t shot Mr. White. He hadn’t played that old fucker’s game, for once. Everything was going to be okay, even though nothing was ever going to be okay ever again. He would just have to learn to live with that.

He was thinking about all of those things when he probably should have been watching the road, or considering the fact that the recent rain (which admittedly he didn’t know about, having been cooped up so long) had made the road slippery. By the time he hit the brakes it was already too late and the stolen car was veering off to the side of the road, crashing into stone and concrete. What was past it, Jesse wondered, was it a lake? A highway? What was he going to fall into if the car kept going?

He thought of it all, thought of Brock, wished he could steady the car and save himself and get back to him, get out, get to Alaska.

But maybe this was always meant to be. Maybe he was always meant to die on this road. He wondered it as everything went black, like he’d turned out a light.

***

He opened his eyes, dazed, and looked up at a bright light. Maybe this was Heaven, he wondered, and that wouldn’t be that bad, after all. He’d be with Jane and Andrea and nothing would hurt.

But it couldn’t be Heaven, because something did hurt. In fact, a lot of things hurt. Not unbearably, but a strange throb, one that he couldn’t quite explain.

He shuffled in his spot, realizing there was an itch on his thigh, and tried to move his arm to scratch it.

It wasn’t happening, though, and he gazed over in curiosity. With a yelp, looking down, all he saw was a stump at the end of his elbow.

He shuddered. This had to be a dream. The car accident hadn’t been that bad, had it? 

He needed to yell for somebody. Needed them to wake him up. 

He turned to the other side. He had to get that arm out and press the button or whatever there was around here to signal that he needed help.  
When he turned in that direction, there was only a stump there, as well. Jesse shivered, a full-body shiver (which, he realized, was getting to mean smaller and smaller mass). So he screamed, as loudly as he could. 

Someone came running. A flash of white, a nurse of some kind.

“Mr. Pinkman, Mr. Pinkman, it’s okay,” she told him, but she sounded more frustrated than encouraging. 

“What… what happened to me? Where am I?” Jesse gasped out in panic. “Help me! Please help me…”

“You’re going to need to calm down,” the nurse said firmly. Jesse gazed up at her, frightened. Her tone gave the indication that first of all, she didn’t take any shit, and secondly, that he didn’t want to give her any kind of a hassle if he didn’t want his hospital stay to be more of a horror story than it already was. “You were driving, recklessly might I add, and you crashed your car. Paramedics arrived on scene and got you to the hospital. Your arm was severed in the crash and the nerves of your other three limbs were crushed under your car. They had to do a quadruple amputation to save your life and get you out of the car.”

“Quadruple?” Jesse let out a sound that was something like a squeak that met with a wail. It wasn’t long after that that he passed out.

***

“Jesse.” There was a low sound, and something about it filled him with an equal mix of anxiety and comfort. 

“What?” Jesse whispered, opening his eyes again. Maybe it had all been a dream, a horrible nightmare. 

“It’s me. It’s Walt.”

Jesse blinked hard. Nothing had changed. He was still in here, barely half a person, the punchline to some horrible bad-taste joke. None of his old friends would be able to look at him like this, not Badger and Skinny Pete, hell not even Wendy.

But of course, here he was, Mr. White, come in when Jesse was at his lowest (though that, of course, begged the question of when the hell wasn’t he at his lowest?). To do what? To gloat? To tell him it was all his fault for being a rat, a dirty coward?

“Jesse, can you hear me? I see that you’re awake. Your eyes are open. You’re reacting to the sound of my voice. Please talk to me.”

Jesse let out a low sigh. At least he could still do that at least; he rolled his eyes, too, in the last method of shrugging that was available to him.

“What do you want, Mr. White?” he asked. There wasn’t much left, in more ways than one. Why had they even bothered to save him, only to leave him like this? What kind of life could he even lead with no arms, no legs, a fractured mind and no future?

“You’re going to need help. You’re going to be struggling a lot.”

“No shit,” Jesse spat back at him. “It took you how long to figure that out? How the hell are you even here? Didn’t you get shot anyway?”

Mr. White shrugged.

“I recovered,” he replied simply. “You might not have it quite so easy. So that’s why I’m going to take you in. I’m going to help you, Jesse.”

“What if I don’t want your help?” Jesse’s voice was breaking.

“Do you really have that much of a choice?”

***

There was a big blanket wrapped all around Jesse. It was kind of uncomfortable, actually; it didn’t lay over him quite right. Admittedly, there was a smaller area to cover (a smaller mass, Mr. White would say, if he were explaining this to Jesse instead of Jesse figuring it out on his own), but one of Jesse’s thighs wasn’t quite as warm as the rest of his body.

He didn’t really have any options about how to fix that, however, at least until Mr. White would return to the room. He would have to ask him if he could help him.  
Jesse grit his teeth in frustration. Mr. White was seriously going to have to help him with everything – even something like going to the bathroom. How the hell had he gotten unlucky enough to end up in this? He shook his head; as if the compound hadn’t been bad enough! At least he had still had his arms and legs, bound as they might be, forced as they might have been to cook and do other things Jesse would rather not remember, but… at least he’d had them.

 _Don’t know what you got ‘til it’s gone,_ Jesse thought.

He shut his eyes, trying to distract himself with sleep. It wasn’t as if he had a whole lot of other options for things he could do right about now. His rest was short-lived, however, and he was awoken by the sound of the door opening and Mr. White entering the room.

“How are you doing, Jesse?” the older man inquired, and Jesse glared at him.

“I’m doing great, Mr. White,” Jesse replied sarcastically. “I need to take a piss, I’m freezing and oh, did you miss the part where I don’t have any fucking arms or legs?”

“I’ll help you,” Mr. White replied, like this was the most normal situation and conversation in the entire world. Jesse felt briefly relieved that at least he wouldn’t have to pee himself; there wasn’t much further down that he could actually go, but that would have been hitting rock bottom with no real chance of reversing direction.

Before Jesse could ask how exactly Mr. White was planning on helping him, he found himself being lifted into the air and hoisted into Mr. White’s arms. Jesse panicked and let out a little squeal of protest. This was not okay.

“Quit squirming, Jesse,” Mr. White told him, “You’re just making me take longer to get you where you need to go.”

Very reluctantly, Jesse settled down, if only to avoid peeing everywhere. He shut his eyes, perhaps in some vague hope that he would open them again to find that none of this was real and had all been a very twisted nightmare brought about by too much crystal and too much trauma.

But when he opened his eyes again, he was only in the bathroom, seated on top of a toilet that somehow felt like the highest mountain in the world now. He wished there was something to do to hide, to shield himself – it felt like Mr. White was watching him. Maybe he was; no, of course he was, though Jesse wasn’t sure if it was to make sure that Jesse wasn’t going to go tumbling off and hurt himself or because he was getting off on all this power.

It was probably a little bit of both.

“Yo, Mr. White,” Jesse griped, “Can you leave me in here alone? I can’t… I mean… I gotta…”

“It’s not like I haven’t seen it before, Jesse.”

Jesse grumbled, but it was getting harder to hold it. He had to shut his eyes tight and pretend that he was somewhere else, back at home, somewhere safe, somewhere he had control and power, to be able to let go. He opened them with a grunt when Mr. White picked him up again later, humiliatingly wiping him off, flushing for him and then putting him back in his clothes, such as they were – pants seemed sort of superfluous when one didn’t have any legs. Jesse felt like he was the punchline to some awful bar joke that he would have laughed at awkwardly before all of this.

At some point, he found himself placed back into bed as he realized that the whole thing had taken a lot of effort and he was actually tired. How the hell was he supposed to live any kind of normal life if going to the bathroom to take a piss was enough to tire him out, and was enough to require Mr. White’s assistance? He thought to himself that maybe he ought to cash in all his chips right now, because his life was about to become entirely worthless. Maybe he should have cashed them in at the compound.

He wished he could keep thinking about it, that he could figure it out. Maybe there was a way out of this – but no, that kind of thinking had been what had gotten Andrea killed. Maybe Brock wasn’t in danger anymore, but he couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t risk being selfish and only thinking about the immediate moment. He would have to get up his strength and see if there was anything he could actually do in his new situation. Hell, there were those guys on TV playing wheelchair basketball and stuff like that, right? And what about Ash in Evil Dead? He had lost a hand, but still somehow managed to be utterly bad ass.

He somehow got his head against the pillow and, this time, the blanket sufficiently around him, or maybe he was just too tired to care this time. He shut his eyes and felt his breathing steady. He dreamt of the compound, of himself, of losing himself and trying desperately to find himself again.

He dreamt of Mr. White and Andrea and Jane.

He dreamt of waking up one day and discovering that somewhere, somehow, he had become a badass.

***

“Jesse.”

Mr. White was shaking him awake. The thought occurred to Jesse that nothing was truly his anymore, not even his sleep. He was simply a figure in motion for Mr. White to move around, to pose like an action figure.

“What, yo?” Jesse grumbled, his eyes flying open.

“Are you awake?”

“Now I am!”

Mr. White was gazing at Jesse, uncomfortably close to his face, his eyes unblinking. 

“I think this whole thing would resolved if we were… closer,” Mr. White mused, and Jesse could barely believe his ears. Was the crazy old man implying what Jesse thought he was implying?

“Yo, what are you talking about?” Jesse’s voice was quivering with fear, and with something else, too. A strange sort of doubt. Maybe he was only fooling himself, as creepy as that particular request would be – who would want anything to do with Jesse when he was like this, anyone at all? There wasn’t anything left of him, and he couldn’t fathom anyone looking at him with anything short of disgust, averting their eyes and murmuring something quiet and fake-polite but secretly wishing he would get out of view and as far away as he could go.

“I’m talking about you and I, Jesse,” Mr. White told him. “Haven’t you felt it? It’s something electric between us. It’s always been there – at least since we partnered up.” He snaked an arm around Jesse’s middle and hoisted him up. Jesse felt as if he were floating and let out an uncomfortable squeak, willing Mr. White to put him down. He couldn’t bring himself to protest, however, because the only thing scarier than being the object of Mr. White’s affections was the older man just leaving him here forever if he rejected him. He bit his tongue. 

Jesse turned his head around with jerky motions. He was acutely aware of the fact that he was naked. Had he ever been wearing clothes? Would clothes even sit right on him anymore? It wasn’t as if they made them without any sleeves or pant legs. More importantly – he was naked. Oh God, oh God. This was coming.

There was a hand on his ass, and suddenly Jesse found himself on Mr. White’s lap.

“Mr. White…” Jesse whispered frantically. “Please.”

“You don’t want to?”

It was a loaded question. Jesse didn’t know what the hell he wanted, but whatever this was, it was terrifying. Jesse felt like he was being assailed from every angle.

“Mr. White… Just wait. Let me figure it out. Please. This is all so fast and why do you even want to? Look at me… I can’t. I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can,” Mr. White replied firmly. “You can if you let me help you. I promise that I won’t hurt you.”

Jesse was still reluctant, but he figured that on Mr. White’s good side was really the only safe place to be right now. And maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe it would even feel a little okay.

“Okay,” Jesse whispered, “Okay, Mr. White. You can...” His voice was low, and caught in his throat. He shut his eyes. 

There was something wet on his ass, being slid around it, and then something was spreading him open. Not a big something, but something nonetheless. Jesse arched his head forward and let out a big gasp.

“Mr. White,” he whined. “I…”

“Shh… Jesse. It’s okay. I’ll take care of everything.” But he couldn’t see what Mr. White was doing, could just feel this thing – probably his finger – moving in and out of him and not feeling pain but feeling weird, feeling not-right. 

“Mr. White,” Jesse breathed out. “Please.”

He didn’t even know what he was begging for anymore, but apparently Mr. White knew, or at least thought he knew.

He lifted Jesse up like he was an inanimate object, like he was something to just put on a shelf somewhere and forget about – please, no, nothing could be worse than to be just left, forgotten, like the compound all over again – and he must have slicked up his cock because he put Jesse – what was left of him, what was left of… no – down directly on it, hands pressed firm on his hips.

“There we go, Jesse… That’s not so bad, is it?”

Jesse whimpered. It felt like there was too much of Mr. White and not enough of him. Like there would never be enough of him again.

Mr. White started to move him up and down, not touching Jesse’s cock – but he couldn’t, could he? Jesse justified in his head, if his hands slipped Jesse would fall and falling, that would be bad, very bad.

Jesse shut his eyes; at least he had that much control. Something wet and sticky shot inside him.

Jesse slowly opened his eyes again.

“I’ll put you to bed,” Mr. White told him, like what had just happened was nothing at all. “We’ll make this work. I promise. You’re no burden at all.”


End file.
